


Dog Days

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy's always wanted a dog...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saberivojo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saberivojo).



“Oh, hell no,” Dean muttered. He was frozen half-in and half-out of the house, and the screen door was pressing into his fingers where he was holding it open. A breeze brushed across the back of his neck, cooling the sweat there, and for a moment Dean considered turning around and heading back to the plant. They’d totally let ‘Hank Dawson’ work another shift, and despite the ache in his fingers and the bone deep weariness ghosting through his shoulders, Dean thought that spending another eight hours carving up slaughtered cows would be preferable to dealing with the situation waiting for him in the living room.

But it was already too late: he’d been spotted.

“Dean!” Sammy’s voice was pleased, his face open and radiant. The … thing … in his brother’s arms squirmed free and made a beeline for the door and the freedom beyond. Dean hastily stepped inside and yanked the door shut out of instinct, and then instantly regretted it. Could’ve solved the whole damn problem if he’d just stood there gaping for a few more seconds.

The thing prancing around his legs and making excited yipping noises was either some kind of mangy dog or a rabid skunk. Tough to tell which one because of the mud and twigs clumped in its hair, but it smelled like week-old fish and not skunk, so Dean was leaning toward canine. Plus, he was pretty sure Sammy was smart enough not to bring a wild animal into the house, even if Dad was gone for a few weeks.

“Isn’t he great?” Sammy asked, unfolding himself from the living room floor and hurrying into the kitchen to scoop the atrocity up into his arms again. “His name’s Argos. You know, like from the Odyssey?”

Dean shook himself out of his shock and snorted. “I don’t think so, dude. Dad comes home and finds that thing here and he’ll kill us both.” He winced as the flailing bundle of fur and muck licked his little brother’s face enthusiastically.

Sammy squared his jaw. “I found him, and I’m going to keep him,” he insisted.

“You’re totally not. Come on, we’ll drive him to the pound.” Dean reached for his brother’s sleeve and Sammy yanked back.

“No! We never get to have anything normal, Dean. Just this once, I want—it’s just a dog. _Dad_ had one when _he_ was growing up—he told us so, remember?”

“That’s different, Sammy—” Dean started.

“Why? Because Dad says it is? Cause that’s bullshit!”

Dean’s hand sneaked out and thwapped Sammy upside the head before he could move out of the way. “Watch your mouth.” Kid was too young to be swearing.

Sammy scowled at him but ignored retaliation in favor of pressing his argument. “Come on, man, look at him! He’s awesome. And when he grows up he can help with hunting.”

“That thing’ll be lucky if it can kick a chipmunk’s ass. What the hell is it anyway, some kind of poodle?”

“Ha ha. I think it’s some kind of rottweiler mix. And it’s gonna be huge—look at its paws.” Sammy thrust one of the offending limbs in Dean’s face and Dean backed away, wrinkling his nose.

“Dude, gross. That thing probably has, like, a million diseases. Not to mention fleas, and ticks, and—”

“Come on, Dean! Haven’t you ever wanted a dog?”

“Why? Already got you, don’t I?” While Sammy was distracted by the effort of rolling his eyes, Dean reached out and grabbed the mutt. Was thankful he was still in his work clothes as the thing squirmed against his chest, rubbing God only knew what into the cotton.

“Hey!” Sammy protested. “Give him back!”

“I don’t think so. Me and Fugly here are gonna take a little ride.”

“You’re not taking him to the pound!” Sammy whined, hanging onto Dean’s arm like a leech. “They’ll kill him!”

Dean shoved Sammy back with his free hand, thankful that the kid hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and was still relatively easy to handle. “What? A looker like this?” he said, holding the mutt over his head with one hand. “I’m sure they’ll be lining up around the block for this baby.”

“You’re such a jerk!” Sammy shouted, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I hate you!”

Dean ignored the brief tightening in his chest. Kid would get over it. “I’m crying inside. Really.” He pushed back out through the door and Sammy trailed after him.

“You’re just scared of Dad!” Sammy accused.

Dean laughed shortly. “Damn straight I am. And if you aren’t, you’re dumber than you look. Now get back inside. I want to see you working on your homework when I get back.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Sammy snapped.

Dean ignored his brother’s barb. Shoved the dog into the backseat of the clunker he was borrowing from Mr. Gregson while Dad was away. Slammed the door before it could scramble back out. “I mean it, Sammy. You aren’t in there working when I get back and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I finished it already,” Sammy spat. He tried to dodge around Dean and get to the car door.

Dean grabbed him by the arm and held him back. “Then study your Latin.” When Sammy ignored him and tried to dive past him again, Dean tightened his grip. “Don’t make me tell you again, dude.”

Sammy wrenched his arm out of Dean’s hand. “Fine! But you’re killing him; I hope you know that! Puppy killer!” He stormed back into the house.

Dean grit his teeth together. He sooooo didn’t need to deal with this kind of shit after a full day at the plant. He didn’t remember acting like such a spoiled brat when he was twelve.

Dean slid into the driver’s seat and started the car with a vicious jerk of the keys. Stupid fucking dog. Messed up his whole night. And Sammy probably wouldn’t talk to him for weeks: kid was stubborn.

As Dean pulled out of the driveway, the mud-covered catastrophe in question wriggled its way into the passenger seat. Where it sat looking up at him and wagging its stubby little tail.

Dean hunched down a little. “Dude, stop,” he muttered.

The stupid thing whined at him pitifully.

“Don’t be stupid; you’re not gonna die. Someone’s totally gonna adopt you. Someone who won’t get killed for letting you in the house.” And yeah, he was totally talking to a dog now. Great.

The mutt swarmed over the clutch and into Dean’s lap and he swore. Swerved the car over onto the shoulder, and slammed his foot on the break. Was really, really thankful that there hadn’t been any other cars on the road.

The mutt was standing on one of his legs now, its paws on his chest, staring him in the face and grinning.

“That’s it,” Dean growled. “You’re riding in the trunk the rest of the way.”

The puppy gave a happy little bark and licked his face.

Fucking dogs.

\---

Sammy was slouched over one of Dad’s exorcism books at the kitchen table when Dean came back in. The glare he turned up at the sound of the door opening turned into a shocked stare. Dean scowled back as he dumped the puppy on the table in front of his brother.

“Fine,” he snapped, “But we’re calling it Cujo.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John had to hand it to them: it took him a little over a week to figure out what was going on. His first real clue was when Sammy volunteered to run extra laps in the morning. Even back when Sammy had still thought PT meant “play time”, he’d never offered to do more than John asked of him.

Dean, of course, offered to go with his little brother. Keep him company. Which normally wouldn’t cause John to raise an eyebrow, except that ever since Dean had dropped out of school to go to work (and wasn’t _that_ one keeping John up nights?), he’d been too tired to do more than a couple pushups before collapsing onto the ground in a semi-doze.

John’s next hint, which was more of a giant red flare in the middle of a dark room, was the box of kibble he found hidden at the bottom of the boys’ laundry basket.

He stood there for a long moment, holding the box. Turning everything over in his head. Boys had obviously found some kind of mutt and were keeping it somewhere. John figured that they were using the shed out back, which was still filled with the previous tenant’s belongings, and which John hadn’t given a second thought since they moved in.

As he felt the first stirrings of anger, John had no illusions as to which of his sons had thought this little scheme up. Whole situation reeked of Sammy. Boy’d been after John for a dog for the past three years, and he had Dean twisted around his little finger.

John tossed the box back into the laundry basket. He wanted to blame this on Sammy, but the kid wasn’t old enough to understand the kind of problems this could cause them. Dean, on the other hand … He’d told Dean to keep Sammy out of trouble, damn it!

John stormed out of the house and around to the storage shed. Dog would be long gone by the time either of the boys got home, and then he’d have a little talk with his eldest about just what ‘out of trouble’ meant.

The problem was waiting for John when he wrenched open the door. Was standing right in front of him with its tail wagging so hard its entire rear end was moving back and forth. Massive paws. Tiny tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. It cocked its head to one side and barked at him.

John sighed and carried the puppy back into the house. Sat down on the couch with it and listed the reasons that they couldn’t keep the animal while he scratched it idly behind the ear. Smiled down at it when it fell asleep on its back in his lap, one leg dangling out in midair and twitching every once in a while.

When Sammy came home, the puppy tore itself out of its doze and practically fell all over itself getting to the door. John sat quietly on the couch and listened as Sammy’s bag hit the floor.

“Hey, boy. What’re you doing in here? Is Dean home early?” He raised his voice and called, “Dean? You sure this is a good idea? What if Dad—”

As he rounded the doorframe and caught sight of John waiting on the couch, Sammy’s words cut off instantly. His hands twitched guiltily around the puppy and his eyes darted to the side.

“This totally isn’t what it looks like,” he tried.

“Room, Samuel Winchester. Now.”

Sammy swallowed and his head dropped. He started trudging toward the hall that led to his and Dean’s room.

“And leave the dog,” John added, his voice gruff.

With a supreme act of concentration and tactical maneuvering, he managed to keep the dog in his lap when Dean got home an hour later. John watched his eldest son round the corner, his already broad shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Watched Dean’s eyes widen as he saw his father sitting there with the puppy squirming around in his grip.

“I can explain,” Dean said quickly.

“Really?” John drawled. “Go ahead, then. I’m all ears.”

“Erm …”

“Come on, son: don’t keep me in suspense.”

Dean sagged. “It’s my fault,” he mumbled. “I found it and I thought maybe if—”

“Bullshit,” John broke in. “This has your brother written all over it, and we both know it.”

Dean winced. “Okay, so maybe Sammy found him, but I’m the one who should’ve taken care of it.”

“Damn right you should have,” John agreed. “How long has this been going on?”

Dean lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. “Few weeks.”

“We talked about this, Dean. I told you why we can’t have a dog—I told Sammy, too, but I expected you, at least, to have actually _listened_. You know we can’t afford the vet bills, and it’s already hard enough to find places that’ll accept tenants without references. You start throwing pets into the mix and we might as well be living out of the Impala.” John fixed his son with a stern stare. “You want that for your brother?”

Dean flinched. “No, sir.”

John sighed, relenting a little. “I’m not trying to be an asshole here, Dean. I make these decisions for good reasons.”

“I know that, Dad. It’s just—” Dean hesitated, biting his lip.

“Just what, son?” John prodded gently.

“Sammy wanted it so much, I thought maybe, just for a little while …”

John felt his lips twitching up in a slight smile. Maybe Sammy had been the one pushing for a dog initially, but from the way Dean kept stealing glances at it, Sammy was no longer alone in his desire. For the millionth time, John’s chest constricted in rage and sorrow at what they’d lost, all three of them. At what they might have had, if things had been different.

“I’m not gonna punish you, Dean. I think you understand that what you boys did was wrong.”

“What about Sammy?” Dean whispered.

“Him either.” John snorted. “Wouldn’t do any good, would it?”

“Probably not,” Dean admitted, smiling ruefully as the threat of punishment lifted.

John put the dog down on the floor and it dashed over to his son. Danced around Dean’s legs until he bent down and picked it up. Dean ruffled the puppy’s ears for a moment and then, not looking up, said, “We can’t keep him, though, can we?”

“You know we can’t afford to.”

“Are you going to take him to the pound?” It was barely a whisper, and John didn’t miss the way Dean’s grip on the puppy tightened slightly.

“Nope. Got a better idea.” John smiled broadly at the hope in his son’s face as he glanced up. “I might know of someone who could take that little fella in. Keep him for us. You boys can drop in and visit him whenever we’re in the area.”

Not a perfect solution, and it certainly didn’t make up for everything that the boys could never have, but it was a start. It was a compromise that all three of them could hopefully live with. Well, the four of them could live with it: five if you wanted to count the dog. John grinned wickedly and didn’t feel bad about what he was about to do to his old friend in the slightest.

\---

“What the hell is _that_?”

John hid a laugh at the horror in Bobby’s voice.

“His name is Argos,” Sammy said, shoving the puppy into Bobby’s arms.

“No, it’s Cujo,” Dean argued.

“Dad said you could watch him for us,” Sammy continued, ignoring his brother.

“He did, did he?” Bobby’s voice was carefully toneless as he glared at John.

“Well, you have all this space here,” John said innocently. “And seriously, Bobby: a junkyard without a junkyard dog? That’s just sad.”

“It ain’t a junkyard: it’s a salvage yard.” Bobby held the puppy up by its scruff, frowning at it.

“So he’s a salvage yard dog,” Sammy said brightly.

Bobby sighed and the puppy, grinning, stretched out its neck to lick his nose.


End file.
